RIP Lady Crazy
by Dr Spleenmeister
Summary: An origins story that begins in Vietnam with the crash-landing of someone's favourite plane. Slash-free, this is a bromance only zone! *currently undergoing a considerable re-write*
1. Crash Landing

**RIP Lady Crazy**

Chapter 1 _- First Impressions_

'When it rains it pours'; whoever had coined that must have done so while in Vietnam. Vietnamese precipitation was not the same as the rain back home, where humidity would give way to fresh, cooling rain; in Vietnam the perpetually humid air simply turned to liquid around you.

Templeton Peck leaned back against the wall of a dilapidated hangar, the small, corrugated steel overhang above his head barely shielding him and his sheltering companion - the almost infamous Colonel John Smith - from the pelting rain. The heavy moisture in the air wasn't stopping the colonel from trying to light a cigar, but the soggy brown length was having none of it, and in its defiance remained dangling wetly from his teeth.

Peck yawned widely and scanned the skies for what felt like the eightieth time. He and the colonel were at the Tay Loc Airfield, in between missions, leisurely kicking their heels and awaiting pickup for their next assignment. Their new - as yet unidentified due to a kink in communications - pilot was due to arrive back from a bombing run of his own any minute now; once he landed there would be a quick change of vehicles from plane to helicopter and they would be on their way to meet the rest of the team at the rendezvous point.

Checking his watch again, Peck sighed; he disliked being idle for too long out here, it gave him too much free time dwell on the state of things. He'd heard about the unrest back home and if he allowed himself time to think about it, he found himself starting to resent the very people he was out here to protect. He sighed again, drawing a faintly curious glance from the colonel, then rolled his neck, banishing the threatening chill of distain towards his fellow countrymen. Blinking hard, he tried to stave off the drowsiness that threatened; lord he was bored.

He picked idly at the shoulder of his wet weather jacket and said to the colonel, "Who do you think our pilot will be? I hope it's not Hawkins, his landings always jar my teeth." He ran a tongue self-consciously along his new dental caps. The ceramic caps had been the colonel's idea; Peck had recently started to flex his acting muscles in aid of the platoon, with increasing success, and Smith had suggested he get them done in order to enhance his cons. So far they had worked a charm, especially when talking Nurse Dixon out of those six extra doses of Diazepam for the last sniper-heavy mission.

And then talking her into bed on his return.

The colonel grumbled around his cigar, "Hawkins is a hazard in the sky; the last med-evac I flew with him was about a pucker factor nine."

Peck grimaced in response, Tom Hawkins was a perfectly capable pilot, he just lacked finesse. He hoped the flyer for this next drop and pickup was a bit more careful with his cargo, i.e. _them_.

Suddenly, the loud bang of a wooden door being thrown open cracked through the rainy quiet, making Peck jump from his lazy slouch. A junior airman came streaking from the communications hut, past where the two men were seated in the rain near the runway, towards the landing crew - who were likewise sheltering on the other side of the runway - yelling, "Lady Crazy is comin' in hard and fast, she's outta control!"

Peck and Smith exchanged an alarmed glance of recognition as they heard the name, they'd heard the stories of the Lady Crazy bomber. She'd been in country for less than a month and had already made a name for herself as a VC-killing machine. The pilot of the F-4 was rumoured to be as much a maverick as the colonel; he went against orders, took aircraft that weren't assigned to his missions if he thought his crew could do a better job with them and whooped war cries every time his bird left the asphalt.

He had also eliminated exactly one hundred and thirty two enemy targets: three times the average total of neutralisations per pilot.

A spluttering roar sounded overhead and as the runway crew scrambled to their emergency positions, Peck and Smith stood and moved into a better viewing position.

The damning sound of an imminent crash landing preceded the plane herself and as the damaged Lady Crazy finally hurtled into view from over a hill, she plummeted, screaming blue murder toward the runway, smoke pouring from one of the engines as the whole plane listed dangerously to one side.

A warning klaxon sounded throughout the base and an emergency medical crew came pelting out of the main hanger as the first part of the plane - the tip of the left wing - hit the asphalt at just the right angle to snap the whole wing clean off. As the severed hunk of aerodynamic metal flew off in the wake of the rest of the plane, the bomber lurched from the damage and impacted with the runway hard enough to shake the ground, her landing gear having failed to deploy. She skidded sideways on her belly for a good five hundred feet before screeching to a smouldering, smoking rest at the base of the control tower, missing it by mere meters.

The yells of the emergency teams could be heard over the metallic, death-rattle groan of the ruined vehicle, as it tipped over again on its underside to finally rest, with a jolt, on the intact wing. Men ran around and clambered onto the wreck of the fast mover and after a flurry of activity over the plane the co-pilot was successfully extracted and lowered, unconscious, onto a gurney.

Peck and Smith both took an unconscious step toward the wreck when the voices of the rescue crew became louder and more frantic: they were having problems with the pilot's canopy, and the pilot - _THE_ Captain H.M. Murdock if the rumours were to believed - was trapped inside.

The instinct to help kicked in and a surge of adrenaline shot through Peck as he leapt over the storage containers he and Smith had been shielded behind, to race towards the plane, his colonel hot on his heels.

Upon reaching the plane, the two soldiers vaulted up beside the three men already working on the jammed cockpit canopy and added their considerable combined strength to the heaving effort of un-sticking the plexi-glass. The pilot inside was conscious, barely, with a deep crack in his flight helmet and his oxygen mask still in place. His large brown eyes - the only part of his face visible through his helmet's shattered, reflective visor - were wide with panic as he watched the men wrench his canopy free.

Peck smiled reassuringly at the pilot as he met his gaze and the trapped man seemed to relax. The pilot managed to send him a grateful wink before finally passing out, his eyes rolling back and his head lolling heavily on his neck. One of the medics who was crowded around the cockpit cried out in panic as the pilot lost consciousness; the helmet and mask weighed so much that if they didn't get him out quickly he could end up seriously damaging his own spine.

After one more collective heave the cockpit canopy finally came free, with a tortured groan. Peck and Smith moved out of the way as the emergency crew scrambled to reach the casualty.

Unclipping his restraints and oxygen mask, the crew eased the unconscious man out of the ravaged aircraft and lowered him down towards the waiting medical crew.

Before he could be laid out on the stretcher however, he abruptly regained consciousness and struggled free of the hands that supported him with a strength that belied his injured state. Lurching off the trolley and away from the medical crew, he staggered on rubbery legs towards a nearby Huey that had been marked up for med evac.

The medic who had spurred on the cockpit release immediately gave chase. "Captain Murdock! We need to get you inside, you're injured!"

Two of the rescue crew ran past the hysterical medic to restrain the escaping casualty, but said casualty threw them off, stumbling hard onto one knee in the process with a frantic yell of, "No tahm! How thuh heyell do yuh think I gawt shaht dayown?" His southern drawl was thick in his anxiety, rendering him almost incomprehensible, "Those dayumn Commies attacked the Truong Son base cayamp!", Clambering back to his feet he wiped away the beginnings of a nosebleed with his sleeve, "I gawtta get back there, we got wounded men!" He resumed his stubborn, weaving - inevitably slowing - course towards the helicopter.

The medics were by his side to catch him as he ultimately collapsed and remained unconscious long enough for them to load him onto the stretcher and whip him into the medical bay.

The commotion over, Peck and Smith gingerly picked their way back down to the ground from their vantage point on the wet, slippery body of the now deathly quiet Lady Crazy. Once they were back on the runway and had returned to their discarded duffels, Peck hefted his, paused for thought, then caught the colonel's eye.

Smith met his gaze, reading the respect in peck's eyes at what he had just witnessed in the behaviour of the injured pilot and, knowing exactly what his younger companion was thinking, gestured towards the air traffic control tower with his head.

"Shall we?"

Peck grinned and set off toward the tower in search of a conscious med evac pilot, the logistics of the rescue mission already running through his mind. Colonel Smith pulled a fresh cigar from his breast pocket and followed his lieutenant, the beginnings of a grin spreading itself across his expressive face.

**-A-**

_The Favour_

The reports from Truong Son - once Tay Loc had finally managed to make contact with the ravaged base camp - were dire, and the rescue effort took several Hueys two trips to move all the casualties to safety.

After helping to load the last of the casualties from the devastated camp, Colonel Smith hopped up into the final departing Huey to find his lieutenant tightly strapped in and clinging to his seat for dear life.

He smirked at his officer's grim expression, "Peck, relax. We haven't even taken off yet."

Peck grimaced back at his CO, "Can't. You-know-who is flying the return trip."

The smirk promptly fell from the Colonel's face and he quickly strapped himself into the nearest seat then glanced around when he realised that he couldn't see his sergeant, "Where's B.A.?"

Peck quirked a tight smile, "Dangling from the tail, fixing a sheet of plating that came loose on the landing. I swear, that man is afraid of nothing."

Smith gripped the bench below him and ran a quick visual check that he had secured all of his safety straps as the engines of the chopper gunned to life; B.A. had yet to sample Captain Hawkins' unique style of flying, maybe this pilot would be the one to finally give the big man a taste of real fear.

The rotors spun into a blur and B.A. hopped into the cabin at the last possible second, strolling to a spare bench across from Peck. Taking his sweet time clipping his safeties into place he missed the frantic glance Peck and Smith exchanged. By the time B.A. was secured the Huey had lurched into the air, amid groans from the injured men, and he looked up to find his other two team mates staring at him like he was insane.

"What?"

They looked aghast at each other then chimed together, "Nothing."

Smith turned back to face Peck, "When we get back to the base we'll drop in to the M.A.S.H. and see how Captain Murdock is doing. When we left, the doctor said he'd had to sedate him." Smith grinned, "Apparently he kept trying to get back to his bomber."

B.A.'s ears pricked up and he raised an eyebrow, "Cap'n Murdock? Ain't he the crazy dude that tried to bomb Võ Nguyên Giáp's place?"

Smith smirked, "The very same."

B.A. grimaced at the excited glimmer in his C.O.'s eye, he knew that particular expression meant that something was coming that he wouldn't like. He was fast becoming all too well acquainted with the colonel's sense of 'Jazz'.

One of the nearby casualties stirred, B.A. unclipped himself and went over to see if he could help make the man more comfortable.

Peck checked his safeties again, "Did you get an update from the general on this mission we were supposed to be starting before this impromptu rescue? Last I heard it was rather... unorthodox."

Smith smirked around the cigar he had fished from his pocket, "Unorthodox is the word. We'll be taking a little recon trip into the wilderness around Da Nang while the air crew bait the fire of an anti-aircraft stronghold that the boys in Intel. have found. The slippery little V.C. bastards have hidden it deep in the jungle and the General wants it taken out. I'm told it's the biggest one they've found yet."

Peck hissed through his teeth, he pitied whichever poor S.O.B. they'd chosen for pilot duty on this one, if Intelligence were right and the base _was_ that big, then the anti-aircraft guns themselves would be enormous. "Which air crew are we using? Must be a good one to be wild weaseling over DaNang; is it LaFrois' team?"

Smith shook his head, "Nope, the pilot used to be a Thunderbird so he'll be better in the sky than even LaFrois. The General was giving me the details on the way back from Laos when the field phone cut out, and by Murphy's Law of course the phone lines at Tay Loc were down when we arrived so I don't know the pilot's name yet."

Speaking of pilots, Hawkins' voice sounded over the radio that they were arriving at Tay Loc.

Peck nodded to the colonel - hoping yet again that it wasn't Hawkins that would be with them for this next assignment - and braced himself as he felt the plane begin its descent, this was going to be a rough landing.


	2. RIP Lady Crazy

**RIP Lady Crazy**

Chapter 2_ - R.I.P. Lady Crazy_

There was a bulldozer in his head.

A bright yellow bulldozer with a wrecking ball.

A bright yellow bulldozer with a 4,000 pound wrecking ball and fifty pounds of low quality dynamite strapped to the tracks. It rolled its steely yellow mass into the backs of his eyes and exploded in a blaze of excruciating color.

With considerable effort and an audible groan, Captain H.M. Murdock lurched into consciousness and forced his eyelids open, then immediately wished he hadn't. He squeezed his eyes shut again as the sensation of his brain slamming itself repeatedly into the side of his skull took over control of his eyelids. Good God, what had he been drinking the night before? Neat napalm?

Raising a hand towards his head he met with instant failure as his arm refused to lift any higher than his belly button. Tugging his arm upwards again he realised that he was meeting with resistance around his wrist; he squinted down at his hands in an attempt to ascertain why they weren't working.

Ah, that was why.

They were shackled down at his sides.

He peered up at the ceiling, noticing that it was too clean to be the ceiling of his hooch. The sound of faint beeping wavered through the blinding migraine and he finally clicked where he was.

Too sluggish from what must have been either a legendary hangover or a heady cocktail of drugs, to panic over why he was strapped down to his bed, he screwed his face up in concentration and tried to remember how he had ended up in hospital.

The Lady Crazy.

Damn it.

Murdock groaned again, this time in dismay; the Navy would have his stripes when they found out he'd crashed one of their prize F-4s. There seemed to be a gap in his memory though; there had been a crash and he'd lost the Lady Crazy, that much he remembered, but why had he crashed? He never crashed.

Well.

Hardly ever.

His nose itched, but without the use of his hands, and with the cheery yellow bulldozer now digging hefty chunks of grey matter out of his brain and driving them down to the top of his spine, he didn't dare move his head to rub the itch into a pillow.

The missing memory raised its own sluggish head and suddenly the irritation of his itchy nose paled into insignificance.

Truong Son.

He still had the F-4 on loan from the Navy, and a simple supply run to the Truong Son base camp following his aerial attack on the Ho Chi Minh Trail had turned into a fire fight for him, and a wave of devastation for the boys on the ground below.

The Lady Crazy was a beauty of a plane and before the Navy had gotten their hands on her she would have taken out the aerial enemy that had been attacking the base camp without breaking a sweat. however, she had been heavily adapted by the Navy engineers to carry a more substantial payload, and sacrificing a large amount of maneuverability to do so. She simply couldn't dodge the enemy fire fast enough and it wasn't long before she'd taken a direct hit in engine two. The co-pilot's control panel exploded and the Lady Crazy's gunner, Ellis, took the full brunt of the explosion. While his helmet's visor saved his face, the rest of him was not so lucky and he cried out in pain as a large piece of shrapnel ripped through his flight suit and pierced deep into his bicep. However, Ellis was the best and his flawless-as-always aim had taken out the heavy enemy artillery attacking the camp before he became unable to handle his gun controls.

Unfortunately for Murdock and Ellis, the enemy's aim had been almost as good, and the Lady Crazy had been forced to turn tail and hope that she could make it back to Tay Loc before the ravaged engine two gave out; once back at Tay Loc they could switch birds and go back for the injured troops.

Flying minus one engine was tricky but Murdock had managed it before and they were almost home free about two klicks from Tay Loc, when some sneaky little son of a bitch with an anti-aircraft canon had shot a hole clean through the aft section of the plane.

As if that hadn't been bad enough, Ellis chose that particular moment to pass out from blood loss and Murdock had been forced to wrestle the plane - minus an engine and a large part of her tail - to safety, alone.

Once they had quite literally hit the runway Ellis came to just long enough to swear violently at him before passing out again. The wing snapped off and the resulting shudder that wracked the plane caused Murdock's helmeted head to slam into the canopy frame with a loud crack. Seeing stars and blinking through the pain, he man-handled the controls of his precious bomber, wrenching them hard enough to make them creak, so she could slide to a halt without hitting the control tower and killing the men inside.

As the plane finally stopped and rolled over on her belly Murdock had quickly begun to assess the damage and given up as he realised that half of his readouts were black and unable to display anything. He'd groaned in defeat and reached for the canopy release when he found that he couldn't see it, the vision in one eye had gone.

The voices of the rescue crews outside grew closer and Murdock blinked quickly, fighting off the grey haze of unconsciousness that threatened as he felt a trickle of blood at his temple. Groggily trying to push up his helmet's tinted visor - not realizing that it had shattered and that the reason his vision was tinted was because he was badly hurt - he fumbled for the canopy release again, starting to feel claustrophobic when the cover failed to open.

He heard the crew pulling Ellis out and strained to hear what they were saying about his lieutenant but his headphones were pressed too tightly against his ears and hissing static, leaving their speech nothing but a garbled muffle to him. There were three guys working on his jammed canopy from the outside and he tried to assist them from his side but all the strength had bled from his arms, the adrenaline that had driven him during the landing fading quickly, so he sat back in his seat and tried desperately to suppress the fear of being trapped that was bubbling up his throat.

Suddenly two more men joined the three already working on freeing him and he clocked the green berets perched on the men's heads. Still fighting unconsciousness Murdock focused on the newcomers to this little party, the older of the two men - a Colonel if his one working eye had made out the man's uniform markings correctly - was completely focused on the physical task at hand. The other man was a lot younger than his companion, younger even than Murdock it seemed and Murdock was the youngest combat pilot stationed out here. The concerned but reassuring blue eyes of the blond met his and Murdock finally relaxed in the impossible knowledge that he'd get him out.

Winking his thanks at the young soldier Murdock finally gave in to the welcoming darkness and passed out cold.

The next thing he knew he was being carried to a stretcher, but before they could get him onto it he remembered why he had been shot down in the first place. The adrenaline that had gotten him back suddenly surged through him again, giving him the strength to shake the two emergency crew guys off. Spotting a Huey nearby he had lurched towards it, ignoring the blood that was now oozing from the bottom of his helmet and arguing with the crew and medics as they chased him. His nose started to bleed, most likely because of the head injury he'd sustained, but the men back at the base camp were in a much worse state than he, and the way he saw it, if he could walk he could fly. He wiped his nose and resumed his course for the chopper.

That was as much as he remembered before waking up with an itchy nose, a face made of lead and a piece of heavy plant machinery quarrying away at his brain.

A pretty, redheaded nurse entered the room, smiling reassuringly at him as she went straight for the drip attached to his arm.

"H... How's El... Ellis?" How long had he been out? He felt like he hadn't used his voice in a month.

"Lieutenant Ellis is just fine, Captain. We got the shrapnel out of his arm and patched him up as good as new; it'll be a while before he gets behind a gun again but he'll be okay."

Murdock swallowed thickly around the unresponsive slug that was his tongue, "Did anyone go out to Truong Son? Those boys..."

She stroked his hair away from his forehead as beautiful, warm, pain-sapping morphine flooded his system. Her voice was as soft and soothing as the blessed drug, "Don't worry, Captain, they all made it safely here. You just rest now." Another smile, a quick check of his stats and she was gone.

Just before succumbing to the welcome sedative Murdock sent out a silent prayer of thanks to whoever had saved the men he couldn't.

**-A-**

_Merci Beaucoup_

Colonel Smith placed the phone back into its receiver and leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his lips. He eyed the man standing on the other side of his desk. "The general is adamant; we go in with Captain Murdock as planned."

Peck moved from his 'at ease' position in front of the desk to pace the office restlessly, this was ridiculous, surely there was more than one pilot they could use? This was the Army for crying out loud and not just any army, they were Special Forces and supposedly adept at handling any situation. This was a situation that they could handle, so why on God's green Earth were they having to wait for one man?

"He's seriously concussed, Colonel, or didn't you see the size of that crack in his helmet? The doc says he has possible brain swelling, he still can't see out of his left eye and he's only just come out of the I.C.U. How long is the general prepared to put this mission off? How many more aircraft do we have to lose? He isn't going to be ready to fly for two weeks, at the very best!"

Smith grimaced, "I understand your frustration, Lieutenant, but Captain Murdock is the best evasive pilot out here and the general can't get us another pilot of the same ability for at least three months. If we take a lesser pilot on this mission there's a good chance he'd get shot down. Now I'm not saying that this Murdock character is invincible but you've not seen the dossier from Intel. This AA base is like nothing we've seen out here to date, it's highly likely that the Soviets put it there, so we need the best that we can get. The minute Murdock is discharged and declared fit for duty we head out."

Peck dropped into a chair, braced his elbows on his knees and interlaced his fingers tightly in front of his face, "I'm not so sure about this, Colonel. We've never worked with this guy before, we have no idea what to expect."

Smith shot him a look. "We can expect him to do his job, kid."

Peck backpedalled, it was never a good idea to question another soldier's ability to do his duty in front of his CO. Colonel Smith held each and every man in country in high regard, unless they did something to piss him off, then they were in for a swift transfer to the most degrading job he could get them assigned to. "I meant that surely we'd be better assigned an air crew we know, like LaFrois'."

Smith stood and moved to the office's window, "I know we owe Captain LaFrois for that expertly timed extraction from Hue but in this case our hands are tied; we need the best and René simply doesn't cut it."

The following day Smith took Peck to properly meet their new pilot, leaving B.A. with Ray to work on the ground logistics of their part of the mission. Taking Peck alone was a deliberate choice, Smith had the distinct feeling that putting 'Bad Attitude' Baracus and 'Howling Mad' Murdock in the same room together for the first time was a feat best achieved when both men were standing and at full strength.

Upon entering the pilot's hospital ward, the first thing Smith noticed was the number of well wishes colouring the room; access to such things was extremely difficult out here, it went to show just how popular this Murdock character was among the men.

As the two men approached the captain's bed, the colonel felt his lieutenant stiffen beside him, he was well aware of how uncomfortable the younger man was with the situation and Smith couldn't blame him; Murdock was an unknown quantity and if the rumours about him were true they could be in for a hell of a ride.

An excited smile tickled at the corners of his mouth but he resisted the urge to grin for the sake of Peck's sanity - God knew the poor man had seen enough of his CO 'on the jazz', as B.A. put it, to last him a life time.

Drawing up beside the unconscious man's side, Smith laid a hand on the pilot's shoulder - the nurse had informed them that he was only under light sedation now and should be easy enough to wake up. Murdock stirred, slowly blinking awake and fixing unfocused eyes on the two soldiers standing over him.

"Oh, hey," his voice was weak and hoarse but he still managed a watery grin, "You mus' be here for the plane. 'm sorry but it's FUBAR; R.I.P. Lady Crazy." He started to giggle but stopped abruptly with a wince of pain as the motion sent pressurised blood racing into his head, which was still injured outside as well as in, if the bandages wrapping his cranium were any indication.

Smith glanced at Peck from the corner of his eye, the younger man was fighting a smirk and the older man relaxed, "Captain Murdock, we're not from the Navy, we're your LURP ground detachment for the Wild Weasel mission to Da Nang."

Murdock frowned wonkily, trying to blink away the fuzz from his now fully functional eyes, "We're taking weasels to Da Nang? Sorry but I don't have any weasels, unless the nurse snuck one into my dinner." He made a face as the Green Berets stared incredulously at him, "Weasel stew... that doesn't sound very tasty. Hey, help yourselves to the grapes." He waved a hand ineffectually at a nearby fruit bowl - his wrists were still manacled to the bed - then wriggled his fingers by his sides and grinned, "Can't get them to my mouth you see." He gazed up at the ceiling and started murmuring a French song about wine and drinking and at that point Smith and Peck beat a hasty retreat.

Out in the corridor Peck's face twisted in disbelief as he turned to face his CO, "He's crazy, he must have hit his head harder than we thought."

The nurse who had escorted them to Murdock's room spoke up as she escorted them back out again, "Oh don't worry, Captain Murdock is quite sane, despite what he would have you believe."

Peck's voice was shrill in astonishment, "But he's singing! In French! And he clearly had no idea what we were talking about in there."

The nurse smiled , "Trust me, he's fine; he's just a little delirious from the drugs. He's keen to get back up into the sky, in fact I think he'd happily fly while sitting in his hospital bed if they could only build a plane to take it."

"Why are his hands tied down?" Peck's voice was level now, hiding his shock that a U.S. hospital would do that to one of their own.

"Captain Murdock is still being dosed with a cocktail of pain-killers and sedatives, the mix causes hallucinations and if we don't restrain him he pulls at his head dressing, which tears the wound open."

"Oh." Peck deflated, his rising anger placated by the highly rational response.

The colonel kept half an eye on Peck as he asked, "When will he be ready to fly?"

The nurse grimaced, "Ideally a month and a half but, knowing him, probably two weeks."

"Perfect." Nodding their thanks they exited the ward. Once they were out of earshot of the nurse, Smith reached into his pocket for a cigar and the two men headed for the main entrance to the hospital, "That gives us plenty of time to plan our recon patrol route."

Peck pursed his lips, unconvinced and deep in thought.


	3. De Oppresso Liber

**R.I.P. Lady Crazy**

Chapter 3 - _De Oppresso Liber_

The Tay Loc S.O.G. base was fortunate in its location; like the much larger Nha Trang air base - where the rest of the 5th Special Forces Group were stationed - it was by the sea, but unlike Nha Trang it was not under such strict policing. As such, it meant that the soldiers living on the base had more freedom to come and go during their downtime. As Colonel Smith's Alpha Detachment were engaged in an enforced rest period themselves, B.A. and Fast Eddie had taken off for the day and headed for the beach with a couple of the guys from the motor pool. They had managed to talk Ray Brenner into joining them, but only after agreeing to let him scope out a good area from which to deliver his next Water Infiltration/Exfiltration training session for the Yards. Ray was all for R&R, he just wasn't about to let his work slide in favor of it.

Peck, like Ray, was not one for allowing himself to relax for too long. So while his team mates chose to lay in the sun to relax, Peck decided to vent his tensions in a far more primal manner. There was a corner of the base, that the team had claimed soon after their arrival in Tay Loc, in which to set up a small work-out area. It was here that Peck often retreated to, to calm down after failed missions or bad news from home, and it was here where he needed to find his inner calm today.

Peck was on edge.

He was on edge, spitting nails at anyone who came near him and had been since he'd learned the details of the upcoming mission; even the colonel had commented on his short temper. He didn't like sitting around waiting when he knew they could be out there getting this done. He didn't like the fact that the whole thing could go spectacularly tits-up and his team could be killed. He didn't like the fact that they were relying entirely on the unknown that was Captain Murdock and most importantly, he didn't trust that the pilot could deliver, despite his stellar reputation.

The cold uncertainty had been sitting, coiled like a poisonous viper in his belly for days until it had finally turned into anger. He needed to do something, _anything_, to get rid of it, or risk compromising the team while out in the field.

Sequestering himself in the makeshift gym, he launched into a savage workout, determined to burn the nervous aggression off.

He'd either burn it off or drop from the effort.

Several hundred sit-ups, push-ups, bench-presses and pull-ups later and he was feeling no better. He moved to the punch bag, whipped his sweat-soaked shirt off over his head, clenched his hands into tight, furious balls and laid into it. The rhythmic pounding of his fists into the heavy bag was satisfying and his muscles soon began to heave with exertion, but it wasn't enough; he was still mad as hell with no end to his frustration in sight.

Stepping back from the bag, Peck shook out his cramping hands and looked around for something that would give him more of a buzz. Spotting a native broom leaning innocently against the gym wall, he bared his teeth in a rictus grin; perfect. Snatching up the broom, he stomped the end off, hefted the pole-come-staff in his hands and headed back for the bag, which was swinging mournfully on its chain. Winding up like a pro batter, he swung the staff as hard as he could. The wood impacted the hapless bag with a resounding '**THWUMP**' that jerked it hard enough to make the chain clink. Peck's arms jarred with the high-speed collision between wood and leather, and for an all-too-short moment the tension in his chest eased a little.

He pulled back and hit it again; then again; harder and harder until the bag finally gave up all resistance and split, spilling its sandy lifeblood all over the floor.

Grunting, panting, his arms burning and the churning in his gut finally still, Peck braced the staff hard against the ground and leaned heavily on it, catching his breath.

Someone cleared their throat behind him. He whirled on the interloper, the staff snatched up defensively by arms suddenly renewed by adrenaline.

* * *

Murdock was grounded.

He hated being grounded, it made him feel... not_ trapped_ as such, but penned in.

He stepped out of the hooch he shared with the likewise recovering lieutenant Ellis and blinked as the bright, mid-afternoon sunshine greeted him. Absently fingering the dressing taped to his brow, he set off on a leisurely stroll around the base.

It was nice to be out of the hospital at last; the inter-cranial swelling that he had sustained when head-butting his plane had reduced enough for him to be released, but he wasn't to fly for another fortnight at the very least, and then only if he passed another battery of tests.

He grimaced; he hated tests. He hated tests almost as much as he hated being grounded. He'd taken so many during his brief - highly confidential - stint with the company, that he could quite happily live forever without being subjected to another.

Pulling a pack of Marlboros from his pocket, he sparked up and took a long, comfortable draw. The smoke curled lazily around his face as he surveyed the shabby Tay Loc base. It wasn't so bad here; he couldn't help but draw comparisons to the far better maintained Nha Trang base, but the more relaxed atmosphere made for a welcome break. It certainly made a nice change to see Green Berets and Marines getting along - unlike at Nha Trang where the Beanies and Meanies were locked into in a perpetual status war with one another.

His slow, meandering tour of the base took him past the dirt helipad - his eyes lit up when he spotted a brand new UH-1 Slick owned by the RAN, parked up for routine maintenance and gleaming in the sunshine - past the officer's mess and towards the command center. As he approached a dusty, tucked away equipment storage area, the sound of human exertion accompanied by a rhythmic thudding reached his ears. Curious, he made a beeline for the source of the noise; rounding the corner he found a soldier beating the crap out of a punch bag. With a stick.

Murdock quirked an intrigued eyebrow, folded his arms across his chest and leaned against a stack of crates, the better to watch the spectacle before him.

The soldier was strong, the muscles in his arms and back bunched and flexed impressively as he made the staff hum through the air. There was a network of scars on the other man's back, his tanned skin making them less visible but they were still clearly there. This was obviously a survivor, which made him either one of beanies of Smith's team - the only Alpha Detachment currently stationed at Tay Loc - a careful Marine, or a very lucky grunt.

The poor punch bag couldn't sustain such brutal treatment for long and it soon split a seam, depositing its contents all over the floor of the makeshift gym. The soldier took a step back, breathing hard, and leaned on his weapon.

Murdock cleared his throat and almost lost an eye for his trouble, as the staff that had beaten the punch bag to death was suddenly thrust into his face. His eyebrows shot up and he went cross-eyed as he focused on the tip hovering inches from his nose. Running his gaze along the length of the pole, he met a pair of furious blue eyes drilling into his. For a long moment Murdock thought the other man was going to attack him, but then the light of recognition dawned in the blues and the soldier relaxed, withdrawing his weapon.

"It's you."

That was all; no apology or offer of explanation. How curious.

What was even more curious, was the fact that although he'd been recognised, the other man's eyes still flamed with something dangerous.

Hiding his curiosity Murdock frowned, unable to place the shorter man. "Yup, it's me. Do I, uh, know you?"

"Not yet, Sir." He snapped to attention and saluted, "Lieutenant Peck, Sir. I was one of the men who got you out of your plane." He didn't hold the rigid position for long, neither did he wait to be ordered to stand at ease, he simply relaxed his stance and cocked his head, glancing at the dressing on Murdock's head. "Shouldn't you still be in hospital?"

Murdock was not usually one for following military etiquette, but the junior officer's lack of respect rankled him. He recognised the name, this was one of Smith's men, as he'd guessed; and not only that, he was Smith's number one. Deadly and efficient. Murdock's gaze grew shuttered in defense and his expression fell neutral. "It's just window dressing, _Lieutenant_; barely a scratch underneath." He had no desire to get into a bickering match with Smith's man, so he nodded to the staff in Peck's hand, "Do you know how to use that properly?"

An odd glint appeared in Peck's eye as he answered with a small, dark smirk, "I know how to beat up a VC with it, if that's what you mean."

Murdock smiled tightly, he didn't like the look of savagery in the other man's eyes. "Not quite no." He held out a hand for the staff, "May I?"

Peck's eyes narrowed in distrustful assessment, but he handed over the weapon, regardless of whatever he was thinking.

Murdock grasped the staff in both hands, took a step back and crouched into the basic Horse fighting stance, one eye locked firmly on the soldier. "The staff is not a club, if you use it as such you'll just end up spraining both wrists and your enemy will laugh his ass off at you." He started to move slowly and fluidly as he talked, being careful not to turn his head too quickly, still mindful of his injuries. "It's an extension of your arm, use it to control and distance the son of a bitch trying to stab you."

Peck's lips twisted with a skepticism bordering on insubordination, "What if he has a gun?"

"Then you're screwed. But if he doesn't-" quick as a snake, Murdock whipped the staff forward to full extension while holding himself up almost perfectly balanced on one leg - he wobbled slightly, still weak from his extended period of inaction. The tip of the staff tapped against Peck's adam's apple and Murdock could see that it took all of his Special Forces-trained control not to step back out of range, "-then you win."

Holding the Lieutenant in that position for a long moment Murdock assessed the other man with his eyes. The muscles in the blond's arms were taut with tension and his fists were clenched tightly at his sides. His face however, was completely placid. Murdock knew from Peck's body language and the fury in his eyes - which by all rights should not be there, after all Murdock was not the enemy - that he was hiding something, but to look at his face, anyone else would see no problem at all. He took a mental note of this interesting ability, it looked like there might be more to this angry young man than he'd first thought. He certainly didn't appear to be the average beanie...

Stepping down and retracting the staff, Murdock approached him and - firmly meeting the other man's seething gaze with a calm one of his own - returned the weapon with a murmured, "There are other ways to vent your frustrations than destruction, Lieutenant Peck. I can show you how to use the staff properly; I guarantee that if you master it the way I hear you mastered your rifle, it will help." He gazed deeper into the angry blue eyes that were trying to bore a hole through his head and smirked gently, "I can see you're unconvinced. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me." He turned and walked out of the gym, throwing back over his shoulder, "And don't call me 'Sir'; makes me sound old coming from someone two years my senior."

Peck watched him go, the staff all but forgotten in his hand as a frown creased his brow. First of all where the hell had this lanky streak of piss pilot learned how to do that Chinese martial art shit? Secondly, how had he been able to tell that something was upsetting him? Ray and B.A. had seen him attack his work out with the same ferocity several times before, and if they had picked up on the fact that something was wrong they never mentioned it. He felt a fresh surge of anger; where did this guy get off, thinking he could stick his nose into his affairs?

Resisting the urge to follow the other man and confront him - knowing he'd probably be court-marshalled if he did - Peck looked back down at the staff and sighed as the nervous tension firmly re-established itself in his gut.


	4. Facey Boy

**RIP Lady Crazy**

Chapter 4 _- Facey Boy_

When they were finally ready to set out on the mission they'd come here for in the first place, Smith, Peck and Baracus joined the rest of their road runner team outside of the base's armory.

Shouldering his sniper rifle Peck turned to Fast Eddie with a cocky smirk,

"Ready to prove you're worthy of that nickname?"

Eddie grinned as he lined up Colt magazines neatly in his webbing, "Any day, Facey Boy." He ran a quick re-loading drill, releasing the loaded cartridge from the Colt .45, whipping a fresh one from his webbing and slamming it into place almost faster than the eye could follow; the entire action was one blur of movement and clicks. He aimed the pistol at an imaginary target and grinned at Face without moving his eyes, "Those fancy new dentures of yours ain't gonna help you out here, it's all about speed and stealth; two things I got plenty of and you got none." Making sure the safety was in place, Eddie re-holstered the Colt and retrieved the magazine from the ground, placing it with the others in his webbing.

Peck smirked, "We'll see." He returned his attention to checking his own weapon, mouthing '_Facey Boy?_' quizically - and distastefully - to himself.

The Colonel was waiting for them with a map of the forests around Da Nang laid out on the table in front of him, as they piled noisily into the briefing tent**.**

"Alright, Men," his boys snapped to attention, immediately cutting the horseplay they had gotten into between the armory and the briefing tent. "We have three days, on foot, to get into position, here." he pointed out a depression in the land on the map, near to the site of the reported anti aircraft stronghold. "Then Captain Murdock and his team will be flying their wild weasel overhead as planned. They will act as the distraction while B.A. and the Yards set their explosives around the building's stress points."

Carter frowned, "Stress points? How will we know where they are? We won't even know the building's layout until we get there."

Colonel Smith didn't even blink as he slid a building schematic across the table towards the doubting soldier. "This good enough for you, Corporal?"

Carter was the team's newest member, so could be forgiven for underestimating his new C.O.; he also had the good sense to bite back on any sharp response he may have been ready with at being put in his place. He merely nodded and waited until Smith began talking again before whispering to Eddie, "I'd heard he was good, but jeez! Where did he get _those?_"

Eddie hissed back, a smile on his face, "Don't ask, don't tell, dude."

Smith continued as though the interruption had never happened. "Once the explosives are all in place, we pull back and wait for the fireworks." He beamed and chomped into a fresh cigar as he asked his boys, "Any questions?"

He was answered by a collective grin and a muffled chuckle.

"Excellent. We'll have to be in close radio contact with the air crew for this one," he shot a grin at Peck, "I think you can take the cans for this one, 'Facey Boy'." His grin widened at the grimace that twisted Peck's lips at the new and unwelcome nickname.

**-A-**

Three days into the mission, Templeton Peck was contemplating murder.

"Dammit, Ray," he hissed, mindful of the need for stealth, "would you stop calling me that? I'm going to kill Eddie when we get back to Tay Loc."

Ray chuckled quietly, 'Face's irritation amusing him to no end. "Come on, Man, it's a great name, and you can't deny that it makes sense, you _are_ our 'Face Man', you get the stuff we need simply by flashing your fabulous mug in the right way."

Peck muttered darkly under his breath, promising a slow and painful revenge on Fast Eddie for this injustice.

Colonel Smith, having received the visual signal from Eddie who was on point that this was the place, motioned for the four men behind him to stop. All internalised death-threats were forgotten as, silent as mice, they lowered themselves to strategic positions on the jungle floor. Peck took the radio from his bergen while the others readied their weapons. With everything prepped, they settled down to wait for the call from Murdock.

"Weasel One pilot to Weasel One bombardier, we are approaching the target; ETA: three minutes." Murdock focused intently on the banks of readings and controls of the A-10 Warthog currently speeding through the sky under his control. Personally he wasn't a fan of the Warthog, its ugly muzzle didn't really lend itself to an elegant name like the poor Lady Crazy - may she rest in pieces - and he hated flying the things. The speed was great fun but the hog handled like a whale; he had originally planned to run this Weasel in the far more maneuverable Lady, but now she was minus a wing and thoroughly out of commission he'd been landed with this beast instead. At least the monster was heavy-duty, the slippery little buggers on the ground would have a hard time shooting this bad boy down.

He flicked a switch on the communications panel, "Weasel One to Roadrunner, we are beginning our approach," he smirked into his mask, "Better be putting on your shades, Boys. I'll dazzle you with this footwork."

An exasperated acknowledgment from Peck on the ground filtered through into his headset. He flicked the channel between himself, Peck and his bombardier open, "Weasel One pilot to Weasel One bombardier, I am turning control of the aircraft over to you. Tell me where you need me, Green. Peck, watch my tail; guide me from the ground." An acknowledgment from both men and Murdock quickly rolled his neck then let his brows settle into a frown of concentration as he prepared to make this flying rapscallion dance.

The series of intricate maneuvers that followed would have made a ballerina jealous; the jet flew, looped, rolled and tumbled through some of the most stomach-lurching moves the ground crew had seen in the field. An A-10 had no right to move like that, and yet there she was, pretending to be and thoroughly convinced that she was an F-4. Missiles and gunfire rained out from the ground base but the Warthog dodged everything thrown at her, while getting in some cracking shots of her own. Peck remained completely focused on directing Murdock from the ground and didn't let the aerial acrobatics faze him lest he make a wrong call and get the fly boys killed. The others were mostly occupied watching Peck's back as he was unable to watch it himself, but every now and then one of them would cast a glance skyward and hiss in shock at what Murdock and his boys were making the brute of a plane do.

Ten minutes and some first class Baracus pyrotechnics later and it was all over; the AA stronghold was a smoking crater in the Vietnamese jungle. Colonel Smith couldn't hold back a shit-eating grin as the Warthog streaked off back towards Nha Trang, Murdock's exultant howl of victory sounding from the radio before Peck quickly shut it off. Ten minutes, that had to be a new record; just wait until the General heard about this, there'd be medals aplenty for this victory against the commie bastards.

**-A-**

Smith hadn't been wrong about the General's glee; he gave the two crews a week of leave in reward. The Colonel would have preferred to take a medal and go straight back to work, but after six days in the jungle his men could use a rest, so he took what was offered and ordered Face to rustle up a bus for them to take to Saigon. Murdock - having returned from Nha Trang after dropping off the Warthog - offered to fly them but the Colonel wanted to take the opportunity for the crews to bond a little, after all he would be requesting Murdock and his boys again. So they all piled into the ramshackle bus Peck had managed to 'acquire', amid grumbles from the men that the vehicle was no better than a grunt truck.

Peck was the last to board and addressed the ungrateful troops, "Well gee, Fellas, if you'd prefer to walk to Saigon I'm sure Stores can dish out some fresh boots." That earned him eight projectiles hurled at him from various points down the length of the bus, most of which he managed to dodge.

Murdock had climbed into the luggage rack and was dangling upside down from it to talk to Fast Eddie, who was explaining the recent change to Peck's status in the team, "'Face'? You called him 'Face'? Why?"

Peck shot the pilot a scowl, displeased with his shenanigans, before sitting down behind B.A. and pulling out a girly magazine from his bag.

Eddie was grinning up at his conversation partner, thoroughly amused by the very shenanigans that Peck was being so grumpy about, "You mean you haven't heard about our little Faceman?"

Murdock shook his head, he knew precious little about the cranky blond lieutenant, but since their meeting in the gym he was curious to know more.

"Face has the uncanny ability to get anything anywhere and usually at very little financial loss."

Murdock raised a pair of impressed eyebrows, then grinned from ear to ear. "Really? Care to make a little wager?" He glanced at the back of Peck's head, hoping that the lieutenant had not overheard the conversation.

Eddie smirked, he loved to wind up Peck and it seemed he'd just found a new partner in crime, "Sure, what's the bet?"

Peck's head moved slightly and Murdock lowered his voice a little, certain now that Peck had heard them talking about him. "A Cadillac. A _pink_ Cadillac. I'll bet you a month's beer allowance that he can't get one out here."

Eddie flashed his teeth in a shark's grin, this guy really _didn't _know Peck, "Alright, it's a bet." He stuck out his hand for Murdock to shake.

As Murdock took the other man's hand to seal the deal, Peck spoke up without turning around, "You want a hard or soft top?"

Staring at the back of the blond head the pilot's mouth fell open and he looked at Eddie again to find the other man pissing himself with laughter.

He had the feeling he'd just lost four weeks worth of booze.

Jumping down from the luggage rack, he plopped into the seat across from Peck and tried to engage him in conversation, but the other man flat out ignored him. Chagrined at the rudeness he was being presented with Murdock pocketed his friendliness, got up from the seat and headed back to see if he could get anything out of Eddie.

Peck glanced up and watched him go with a blank expression on his face.

**-A-**

Arriving in Saigon in the late afternoon the boys wasted no time in enjoying their well-earned leave. Ray, Carter and Eddie headed straight for the red light district once they'd unpacked and changed into civvies, dragging Murdock's new gunner, Green, with them despite his protestations that he had a girl back home. B.A. stowed his things in his room and promptly fell asleep, the long drive from Tay Loc having tired him out, and Smith managed to sweet-talk the motel's receptionist into letting him use the phone on the front desk for a long call home.

Murdock's room was adjoined to Peck's, so once he'd slung his bag under the small bed the pilot stuck his head in his neighbour's doorway. "Hey, Peck, wanna get some food? I'm starved."

The response was cool and Peck's back remained rudely facing him as he unpacked, "No thanks, I'm not that hungry."

Murdock pouted, "Ah come on, please? It's on me, I owe you one for keeping me and Frank alive out there. Besides it's no fun eating alone."

Unseen by the taller man Peck grimaced, he really didn't want to spend any more time than was necessary with Murdock; there was something about him he just didn't trust. That said he was a little hungry despite his claim to the contrary, and if the other man wanted to save him a buck or two he'd be silly to refuse, especially when comparing captains' wages to lieutenants' . Besides, maybe he'd be able to get a better angle on this guy for the good of the team; he'd bet good money that the colonel intended to use the pilot again and Peck did not want to get caught out if he could help it. His lips pressing into an almost perfect fake smile, Peck turned to face the other man, "Alright, sure."

Murdock's eyes narrowed imperceptibly, he didn't like the way the other man's smile didn't reach his eyes. "C'mon, I spotted a great looking noodle bar just round the corner." As Peck walked past him he had to shift his body weight backwards as a shoulder-barge looked in the offing. Raising an eyebrow as Peck locked his door Murdock reminded himself to keep a close eye on this one, there was clearly something not quite right here.

Murdock wished, not for the first time, that he could read minds. Lieutenant Templeton Peck was as much an enigma to him now as he had been when they had first met. Admittedly they had only crossed paths recently, but Murdock had always, without fail, been able to get even the most tight-lipped of people to open up to him pretty quickly. It had never been a skill he was particularly fond of - having a three hundred pound marine crushing you in a bear-hug when he'd had a few too many to drink and poured out his deepest darkests on you was not an enjoyable experience - but it was one that he was now thoroughly annoyed was not working. He didn't understand the smaller man's problem; they clearly could work well together but for some reason they just didn't trust one another.

Maybe that was part of the problem: not only did Peck not trust Murdock, Murdock didn't trust Peck.

Did he trust Peck to have his back in the field?

Of course he did, he trusted every ally out here. Whether he should trust all the soldiers as much as he did and as willingly as he did was another matter entirely.

Did he trust Peck to have his back off the field?

Absolutely not.

But that didn't stop him from trying to work the guy out.

The walk to the noodle bar was tense, Murdock tried to engage Peck in conversation but the other man was having none of it. He didn't want to break out the crazy stuff he was known for on Peck just yet, even though it would be guaranteed to raise a smile. He had a feeling that Peck held as much stock in facades as he did.

Walking into the restaurant and taking a corner table Murdock couldn't take the silence any longer and blurted, "Look, Man, I'm just tryin' to be friendly, do you have a problem with me or somethin'?"

Peck, unwilling to be drawn into conversation on how he distrusted the man, smiled his best winning grin, "Sorry, Captain, the ride over wore me out, that's all. I don't have a problem with you."

Murdock cocked his head, "And the cold shoulder on the bus?"

Peck grimaced, "You were dangling from the luggage racking for most of the ride, cackling your ass off with Eddie at my expense." He folded his arms defensively. "I don't like sharing my private life with strangers."

Murdock nodded, his expression becoming serious, "Alright, I guess I asked for that one," he held up a hand, "it won't happen again, your private life is your own business."

Peck smiled faintly, a genuine one this time.

"I do have one question though." Murdock's tone was soft and low, he was about to tread on very delicate ground here and he didn't want the other man to run, "That day in the gym," Peck tensed but Murdock pushed gently onward, his voice dropping to a whisper, "what happened?" A muscle in the other man's jaw jumped hard and Murdock realised he'd pushed too far too soon; backpedaling quickly for fear of losing the tentative grasp he had on Peck's good side, he said, "I'm sorry, none of my business; it's just..."

"Just what?" Peck snapped.

Murdock hesitated a moment; continuing this line of investigation would either shut down any chance he'd ever have of getting Peck on his side, or it would be the first step towards something resembling friendship.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

He looked down at the table, away from Peck. "Just that I've seen that sort of anger before, and it ain't nothin' to do with bein' out here."

Peck scoffed and sat back in his chair, "What would you know about it? What would you know about anything? You don't know me."

_No sir I sure don't _"You're right, I don't know you, but I know that kind of anger. It eats at you and twists your insides but there's not a damn thing you can do about it because it's completely out of your hands." He looked up again to find Peck gazing blankly at him. All the aggravation had fallen from Peck's face, and the perfectly neutral expression he now wore was more terrifying than the anger had been. He'd touched a nerve, so he pushed onwards. "I've seen it snarling back at me in the mirror."

Peck regarded him for a long moment, until a waitress came over to take their order, mercifully cutting the tension that had pervaded the air.

Once she had gone Murdock mimicked Peck's position leaning back in his chair - distanced from the other man - and started to talk. Maybe if he opened up a little it might help to ease some of the tension between them.

"When I first learned to fly, it was at this small air cadets base back home. It was a private airfield where a handful of us had flying lessons once a week." His eyes unfocused and a faint smile quirked the corner of his mouth as he slipped into memories. "Arabella was in my class, we used to co-pilot for one another once we were allowed to go up without the instructor. We were eighteen when I left town to sign up for the Air Force; she couldn't come with me of course, so she went to Lackland to join the WAF." A shadow passed behind his eyes and he chuckled humourlessly, "She wrote to me, telling me how ridiculous she thought it was that she'd gotten her pilots license but was only ever destined for a desk if she wanted to serve her country." He paused and the wistful smile disappeared. "She always was a fire cracker."

His eyes dropped to the table top and stayed there until Peck spoke up, his own voice softer than it had been, "Go on."

Murdock sighed, he'd almost forgotten how difficult it was to relive these memories. He almost didn't go on with the story, he wasn't sure he was ready to reopen this can of worms just yet.

"Her letters had been pretty regular and they followed me into the Army, so when they stopped I got concerned." He felt a tell-tale sting in his eyes, but he kept a tight grip on his emotions; he had no intention of losing his shit in front of this guy. Opening up a little didn't subsequently mean that he had to go to pieces. "I contacted her folks; it turned out that she'd lasted exactly six months behind a desk. She quit the WAF and took a job running cargo for an exporter in San Antonio. On a run from Colombia the DC-3 she was flying broke up on landing."

He clenched his jaw hard, chomping down on the unmanly emotion that tried to break through into his eyes and onto his face.

"It wasn't fair; I was flying these beautiful, gleaming, well-maintained Sabres and she'd been reduced to wrestling World War Two planes into the sky, all because she wasn't allowed to fly with the Army." He took a deep, carefully calm breath and looked away, his gaze focusing on a distance of nothing.

Peck folded his arms on the table and leaned forward, all traces of his former anger absent and his voice soft once again, "Were you and she...?"

Murdock nodded and blinked hard, forcing back the tears that threatened at the still-raw memories. "After her death I just kind of lost it for a long time, I was so angry, at everyone, all the time. I'd go into the bar just off the base and pick a fight with the meanest looking suckers in there, knowing damn well that I'd never win the fight I was starting. I never threw down with civilians, it was always with uniforms." His eyes glittered with the rage he hadn't let anyone see since he'd joined the Army, "It just felt so good being able to beat down on a guy, even if it was only for a few seconds while his buddies got ready to pull me off him and give me the pasting I had asked for." He grit his teeth with a snarl, "It helped kill the pain."

Peck's mouth thinned, the parallel to his own loss startling him out of his comfort zone and into empathy, "I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't." Murdock straightened, the mask of joviality Peck had become accustomed to slipping back into place, "You're not the only actor around here, '_Faceman_'."

Peck nodded slowly, storing that little tidbit of information away for later. He still didn't know if he could trust this man, but he was beginning to understand him a little better.


End file.
